Neon Demon

Where Demons Play

The Cherry Pit had neon red lights that turn on every evening after sundown; bathing both the sidewalk and street in a bloody hue. All that was missing was a mangled body of a hooker in the street and a sprinkling of used heroine needles in the adjacent trash smelling alley. (Sometimes it was undercut by the sourness of a tweaker's vomit). It was a place born and bred for alphas to do what they wanted while escaping the watchful eye of the law. With alpha policemen enjoying the company of omega escorts under the glowing red lights, they were often inclined to turn a blind eye. Loosing themselves to their basic desires much like any other alpha in the city.

Summer night heat only made the red glow of the artificial seem more intense. As for the alphas squatting out front in black hoodies and torn jeans while they smoked, they reeked of sweat, nicotine, and alcohol. Their natural earthy tones buried under hours of nightlife and dirty habits. One of them had an omega girl sitting on his leg wearing little more than a fashionable leather bra, fishnet stockings, and a collar. Her lips, painted Cherry Pit's signature red, stood bold against the paleness of her face as she pouted and keened for the alphas attention. Rubbing her nose into his neck as he spoke casually about some mutual friends with another alpha to his left.

Suga watched her as he walked past. The way she panted through her blood red lips, how she looked at him with heavy bedroom eyes when she noticed his scent. His sharp fresh smell cut through the cigarette and alcohol stench like a brand new chefs knife straight from the block. The way his mint and cinnamon overpowered turned more than a few heads in his day. He could've sworn he saw her eyes dilate when their gazes met, though that could've just as easily been a trick of the light.
She smelled like cherries.
A few steps past he kept watching her over his shoulder and she turned on the alpha's leg to follow him with her gaze. Suga's eyes raked over her before flicking to the alpha she was with. He wondered to silently for a moment if he could beat him in a fight. Probably. There was only one way to find out though, but he wasn't that intrigued by her. There were very few girls he could get riled up enough to fight over. She's doped up anyway. Out of her mind with sweet heat.

Thumping house music got stronger the got closer he approached to the front door. Hands in his hoodie pocket and ball cap tight on his head as a drop of sweat rolled from his temple. Walking from home instead of taking a cab came at a cost and he knew it would only get hotter once he got inside. All the bodies cramped together, omegas with fevers throwing themselves at any alpha who will give them the time of day. Air conditioning void.

Stepping up to the door and the bouncer that stood guard there, they exchanged nods and he was let past without a word. Diving into the flowing mass of bodies he worked his way through, sometimes slipping between people if there was enough room while other times having to push a shoulder or two. Passing by a few omegas he could feel their hands on his arms grabbing at his clothes. One tired grabbing at his butt.

He hates using the front entrance.

Pushing his way through a group of alphas he was getting closer to the green room door. A 'performers only' sign pasted on the front to keep out regular club goers. Once through he would be able to seek refuge in his chair. The 'King's Throne' as some of the other artists had called it. It couldn't be further from a throne. The clubs new owner, some brat son of the original owner, had found it on the side of the road and decided to bring it in. A "great deal" he called it, "nothing is better than free". The cushions wheezed and decompressed when he sat in it, then would leave an impression of his ass and thighs when he got back up.

You get what you pay for.

Pushing past another group, the door was well within sight. Just a few more people and he'd be free to curl up in his shitty fake leather throne to wait for his time slot.